


Tears Unnumbered

by mordenossë (nosmaeth)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Doom of Mandos, F/M, Gen, Himring, Mandos, Nirnaeth, Noldolante, Oath of Fëanor, The Noldor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosmaeth/pseuds/mordenoss%C3%AB
Summary: "Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains." Doom of MandosSeries of Noldorin moments; unrelated one-shots in varying genres.





	1. Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> There is the pain of Alqualondë, of Helcaraxë, of the Nirnaeth, and Doriath and Arvernien.  
> And then there are the small moments that can wound just as deep... or sometimes they can heal.
> 
> Chapter 1 - BLISS: Maitimo and Findekáno  
> Chapter 2 - FORGER: Istarnië and Fëanaro  
> Chapter 3 - TOL HIMLING: Maitimo, Elros and Elrond  
> Chapter 4 - WHOLE: Maglor and Liltë (Maglor's wife)
> 
>  
> 
> I can not promise these will always feature a Noldo character, its more about the impact of the curse, the whole atmosphere of Beleriand.  
> The First Age is my sandbox of pain; my perverted mind considers it as its playground.  
> With these one-shots I am exploring different options, different ideas and story lines. Different agendas. Consequently the individual entries might not be coherent with each other.  
> (Basically, anything even remotely related to the title and the main concept may appear.)
> 
> (For translations see the end notes.)

'What are you doing?'

'Nelyo! You promised.' Findekáno's entire body seemed taut with anticipation and his eyes shimmered with barely hidden excitement. The harsh light reflected by the snow brought out something golden in his dark hair, and his entire self (fëa and hröa and something _more_ only Findekáno seemed to have) was alight.

'Yes, but...this is madness.'

'Your lord father made these. I doubt there is anything to fear,' he said with ill-concealed challenge in his voice.

'I am not afraid...' Nelyafinwë narrowed his eyes in response. (If Father really made these, there was _everything_ to fear.)

'Of course not,' his cousin answered in a mockingly indulgent tone.

'Káno!'

But it was too late, Findekáno was already out on the ice, taking one-two-three awkward steps and then...and then he was running-gliding on the frozen river, swifter than a cantering horse. The small blades on his shoes seemed to bite into the ice and he seemed to soar over it. His hair flowed behind him, his laughter was pure exhiliration, boundless pleasure; the embodiment of freedom.

And Nelyafinwe followed him.

* * *

 

 

Fingers curled into an angry fist: a frozen, impotent menace. He would have raced ahead to get to him, to scream at him, to cry at him, to murder him... But these shoes were made by Feanaro and so he watched as they sank underwater: he would have nothing to do with anything (anyone) related to the High King who betrayed his own. And ever onward he pressed; head ducked like a charging bull's, teeth clenched, fingers curled, inside still.

(Findekáno followed _him.)_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Feanor invented ice skates. :) (Hey, he could have!)  
> 


	2. Forger

You move about, organizing father's tools, waiting for the smithy to cool, watching Finwe's son watching you...

'Can I help you with something, my lord?'

He gazes at you more intently still, but he merely shakes his head in denial. His hands seem to be twitching by his sides and you raise one brow, surprised and confused. The prince was supposed to have a famed silver tongue.

You nod then and get back to your job, minding your own business, not thinking the least bit about the prince still sitting on your stool, looking terribly intense and awkward at the same time. (Princes do not fit on stools.)

'My lord, are you certain there is nothing that I can do for you?'

Your irritation seeps through your words; you do not understand him, and his intense way (of sitting on a stool!) unsettles you. Besides, that is your sitting spot, your place to gaze intently from at the molding metal, enraptured by how it moves and seems to breathe as it is being shaped... Becoming the subject of observation instead of being the observer is... bothersome to you.

He shakes his head again, but you notice that his hands are moving; fingers curling slowly as if trying to gently touch or stroke something that is out of their reach. His fiery gaze softens, and the look he gives you makes your chest tighten.

He says naught then, but he comes back the next morning handing you a mesmerizing, beautiful copper flower.

'For your trouble,' he says and only smiles gently as you answer with pleasantries and polite denial.

” _You are no trouble at all, my lord.”_

He sits and watches again, and again the next day, and the next. He always brings something in the morning; hairpins, brooches, beautiful tools, original artifacts he made...

After a while you are no longer bothered by his silence; to you the prince talks with his hands.

 


	3. Tol Himling

Maitimo killed and massacred, tortured and hurt, fought and humiliated those he despised or those that simply stood in his way.

Maitimo had inherited a fire that was too hot for him to control, and though he burned fiercely and continuously, he never managed to warm a single thing.

And so Himring stayed true to its name; ever-cold, ever frozen like the heart of its ruler.

And yet when the War of Wrath destroyed the abused, tortured plains of Beleriand, Himring remained above the waters as a silent, eternal memento of Nelyo, the one who had a burning, yet frozen heart, and the one who still managed to care with that mutilated, scorched soul of his.

And Himring remained ever-cold, ever lonely under the starlit skies, above the depth-less waters, and only the silver gazes of the star-children sought the dark peak now and then, amongst the steams of Ulmo.

One from the shores of Middle Earth, and one from the land of Númenor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "After the War of Wrath, when the western lands were flooded, the plains about the hill were drowned and the top of the hill was all that remained of Himring. Left standing as an island, Himring lay off the northwest coast, about twenty-five miles out from the shores of northern Lindon."  
> (see: tolkiengateway)


	4. Whole

He had the voice of the earth and the wind, the stars and the sea; the voice of all that you have ever known. And you had the grace to move; to dance to the rhytm of your world, to anything he sung. Together you were the creation itself; flowers bloomed under your feet as you spun, and springs rose from the ground when he struck his chords. And you were gloriously alive.

But then Alqualondë came, and now you limp.

_(You only cry because you know his voice had not changed since.)_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS AND OTHER NOTES - (If I got anything wrong, please warn me! I am not a linguist, nor an expert, just an enthusiast.)
> 
> 1\. Liltë means dancer.  
> (Lilt(a): Quenya verb: "to dance" + -ë: " female doer")  
> 2\. Káno: I am slightly nervous about this, after all there is that "no using each other's name" rule. But Findekáno is way too long to use on a regular basis. "Findë" maybe? (That makes no sense though.)  
> 3\. Istarnië was the original name of Fëanaro's wife, later changed to Nerdanel.  
> (Ist(a): Qn, verb: "to know")For the purposes of this one shot, it seemed like a more fitting name to use. (Even though I am well aware that it is not actually used in the text itself.)


End file.
